Sarah Dix Hamlin School - Epilogue Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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to listen to the never ending noises of this place. His impassioned prayer had uncontrollably burst from his lips to be heard by two, instead of Cne. Slowly, pushing its way through the fog, came a faint, golden light. lt crept down silently and enveloped the soldier in a celestial cloak. As the rays reached his eyes, he slowly and steadily raised himself up, as if new strength had been born in him. He was sitting rhere, bathed in the glimmering Hood, when a new sound was heard through the silence. Another click, and the ping of a bullet, as it sped toward him, and found its target. The soldier gasped and slumped over--his face turned to the sky, his eyes mirroring the glory ofthe first moon in three nights. His lips parted once more, and the almost silent words were whispered: Thank you God, once more. Thank you for death and the moon. The sniper slid down the tree, shouldered his gun, and marched into the dark jungle, as the one ray of moonlight disappeared. Louise Mesherry, '44 9 Steel blue swallows winging skywarzi Wistful earoling cf a bell, .Echoes gffuan Capistrano, Peaegful story that they tell. Lagyfragranee gf wild roses Tumbling o'er adobed wallsg Plump white pigeons strutting proudb, Cooing sgftbv sweet love calls. Hoodetifatbers, wise and smiling, Stopped to bless and tben passed byg Onbr winds now bear tbose prayers Paying homage with their sgb. -Ioan Blatchly, '44 ,,,, L- -a , . Y.. . , ,ig-...By -.K , ,,.r, ,.... -.--,. .f,.... Lk, EJ.- ...Q--...-. ,sf-, ,

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N O T H E R endless night creeps slowly down upon the silent jungle growth. The dark, mouldy steam presses ever loser to the hot earth and twists and turns through tor- tured trees, thick now with buzzing insects. Another moonless, maddening night somewhere in the Pacific! An eerie tenseness seems to pervade the murky atmos- phere. All the unknown wraiths of the jungle melt into shadows and slip silently from tree to tree, as if trying to hide from some unearthly foe. The stars above, the only source of illumination, seem to be a hazy red, as if foretelling the bloody battles yet to come and mourning those gone by. The thick mist suddenly drifts back from beneath one tree, as if pushed away by some great invisible hand. It discloses a huddled man, pressing his face into the slimy mud to strangle cries of agony that shake his tom and bloody form. Who is this man? Iust another soldier who was willing to die for his country. But to die like this: to lie for three fiery days and three sleepless, haunted nights, without aid, and, worst of all, without the strength to reach the pistol that lies there taunting him? The thoughts that pound in his brain are strange thoughts. Through the delirious hours he cries, sobs out his defiance of his enemies and his love for life. But he has now a greater love for death. If God would only send him death! Another choking scream racks his body, and he presses his face deep in the slime and beats the ground with mangled hands. Oh, God, why can't I die? Why? What have I done to lie here, dying inch by inch? Please, oh please God, give me death. I've never asked you for much in my life. I know I haven't been as religious as other fellows I've seen, but you know how I feel in my heartg how I'vc uttered silent prayers to you and thanked you when they were ful- filled. I've fought for what I thought was right, and they'll never know what happened to me out here. When it's over, I'll just be a pile of rotten bones and a rusty dog-tag, buried under mouldy earth and dripping fog. The soldier hadn't heard the slight noise, the soft whispering of a leaf tumbling down, and the tiny, sharp, metallic click. I-Iis ears were too tired we-up - --141-' f i -A 'N Snmttuhtrt in tht Datitit

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ING walked thoughtfully along the road, wondering to him- 'Dui 2 self how far it was from Tai Po to Fan Ling. Perhaps it wouldn't be too far, but somebody had said it was about ten miles. I-le shuddered but decided that walking might banish the unpleasant thought of the distance. Besides, it was a beautiful morning. I-Ie gazed approvingly at the long black road stretching before him between the green paddy fields shining in the early morning sunlight. Yes, it was a beautiful day. Suddenly his consciousness was startled by the squeak of a wheelbarrow, a large wooden one. Squeaks were good joss, for they scared away devilsg at least that's what People said.The wheelbarrow was being propelled down the middle ofthe road by a very old man in a red straw hat, the strings of which dangled down under his chin. I-Ie was obviously the center of much ill- feeling, for behind him roared a large old-fashioned car, filled with clogs and a Chinese family, all of whom were tooting, yelling, jumping up and down, and barking at the poor unfortunate in the middle of the road. The miserable one, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious ofthe fact that he might be blocking the traffic. Finally, realizing that all was not well, he sidled over to the edge of the road, allowing the car and family to screech by. As the old man turned, he noticed little Ping with his scrubby black hair and his frayed jacket, carrying gingerly in front of him a foreigner's shabby grey hat obviously filled with treasured possessions. The old man grinned apologetically and maneuvered his wheelbarrow to a standstill. Mopping his forehead, he said, I can't get used to those con- traptions. Where I come from they don't have anything faster than this. He pointed to his wheelbarrow. North China? Ping inquired. Yes, I come down here every so often. Still have trouble with your dialect. Then he changed his tone of voice. What are you doing today, young man? Ping grinned sheepishly and looked even smaller than before. Well, I'm going to get a job. Then he added Proudly, My brother is Mr. Chesley's No. 1 dog coolie. I-le needs more help: so I'm going to be No. 2 dog coolie. Dug Clunlin